


Let Me Shoot Across the Sky

by kissesfromkrug



Series: Travel The World And The Seven Seas [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: (not really) - Freeform, Body Possession, Horror, M/M, Torture, not happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-02 10:24:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11507466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissesfromkrug/pseuds/kissesfromkrug
Summary: Even if Dylan could talk, he wouldn't know what to say. Wouldn't know what to do. This is nothing he's never pictured before, not even in his most terrifying nightmares.





	Let Me Shoot Across the Sky

**Author's Note:**

> Not for profit, fictional; feel free to point out any typos. :)
> 
> This directly follows up "I've Got No Soul To Sell", and the title is taken freely from "Hymn For The Weekend" by Coldplay.

Dylan's eyes are still shut tight when Connor cups his jaw in one hand and gently rubs his thumb over Dylan's cheek. "Hey."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean - I'm so sorry, I fucked up," Dylan babbles, cracking open an eye to see Connor staring at him. "Please don't hurt me."

"I'm not gonna hurt you," Connor says. Dylan opens the other eye and watches him with an air of disbelief. "Not in the way you think." He's frozen as he looks up at Connor, who looms over him with an easy slouch. It's more frightening than it should be.

"Why'd you - what do you want from me?" Dylan desperately wants to be covered, regretting not picking up his clothes when he got the washcloth.

"From you? Nothing," Connor says, sliding off the bed, and when Dylan sits up almost can't believe his eyes. He literally blinked - blinked once - and now Connor's dressed. And not even in the pants he had on beforehand, either. He's got ripped black skinny jeans with a white polo, a new gold watch that Dylan's never seen before fastened around his wrist.

"What the fuck?" He squeaks out, and he'd be embarrassed if he wasn't sitting naked in front of this - thing. "This has gotta be a fucking prank."

"You still don't think it's real?" Connor asks, a touch of amusement to his tone. Dylan shrinks back and reaches for the blanket as Connor adds, "What do you want me to do?" Dylan's brain is still fuzzy and confused, and this whole not-Connor thing is not helping anything.

"What can you do?"

"Anything you want." Dylan feels something hot curl in his gut at the obvious meaning behind his words.

"Literally?" Dylan can't help but ask.

"Simple minds don't ask for much," Connor says, and Dylan thinks that might be an insult.

"Okay, so you can piss me off," he scoffs, climbing off the bed and crossing his arms as he tries to disguise his nervousness. "Doesn't prove much."

"Guess you get upset easily? Short fuse?" Dylan sets his jaw and glares at Connor. "Here, lemme show you-" Dylan blinks again, and his clothes are suddenly snug against his body, as if he'd never taken them off.

"What are you?" Dylan dares say in a choked whisper as Connor glances to the bed, which is suddenly made. "Are you supposed to be, like, evil? You're literally dressing me and making my bed." Dylan tries to be confident, but it melts away as Connor's soft features turn rugged and menacing as he stares intently at him.

"You saw what I did to him, didn't you?" Connor says. "It wasn't the kindness of my heart that put him in a near-coma." Dylan feels sicker than ever.

"But why? Why did you-"

"He knows what he did," Connor says forcefully, suddenly standing an inch from Dylan, who uncrosses his arms and stumbles back. "And now he'll pay."

"What did he do? You can't do that, you don't know him!"

"Oh, do I know him," Connor says icily. "Do I know him..."

"You don't," Dylan says, not able to back up any more as he hits the wall behind him. "You really don't. He wouldn't do anything that would need you to punish him, either."

"You don't know him as well as you think you do."

"And you don't know me either, so you can fuck right off and-"

"Dylan William Strome," Connor says, carefully pronouncing each syllable as Dylan is mind blown yet again. "I know who you are. And if you knew who I was, you wouldn't talk like that."

"You're not giving me any clues," Dylan says, but there's no heat to it. Not at all. "Enlighten me." Connor leans in close, bracketing Dylan in with arms on either side of his neck.

"Yeah?" Connor's breath on his cheek is ice cold, and Dylan can't resist the shiver that ripples through his body.

"What _are_ you?" Dylan says again, voice shaking as something - two somethings, actually - scrape across the tendons in his neck, pricking the skin right under his jaw.

"Your best  _nightmare_." Dylan squeezes his eyes shut and sets his shaking hands on Connor's chest, the words spoken in a rasp with an audible smirk. It's terrifying no matter how paradoxical, and Dylan would honestly be curled in a ball if Connor didn't have him pinned.

"When you were a child, I was the one that creaked those floorboards and made the doors squeak and shift," Connor hisses. "I cast shadows that spooked you enough to run for your mother. I flitted across the room while you were sleeping - and wide awake, too; you didn't imagine any of those little flashes of darkness. I watched you through the mirrors; your mirror in your bathroom, the small one across from your bed. You're a light sleeper, Dylan, and I wonder why you no longer sleep with that soft blue blanket your older brother gave you for your fifth birthday."

Dylan's head is spinning, hands still on Connor's chest, simply resting there, not even pushing.

"And your... _friend_. I've always been with him, too."

"How?" He chokes out. "How both? How'd you-"

"Fate tells an interesting story about you two," Connor says, and Dylan can feel him smile against his neck. "I'm afraid to say I can't tell you what's ahead in this next week for you; in his last week."

"What?" Dylan is immediately clenching his fingers in Connor's shirt. "Whose last week?"

"Your lover." Connor pulls back and presses his nose to Dylan's. "Dylan, you don't have to lie to yourself. I know you're scared."

"You can't read me, you don't-" Dylan starts, eyes flitting to the doorway and back to Connor.

"I said knew you well, didn't I? And I know what you're thinking - say, if you shoved me back suddenly, got me off balance, you could maybe make a break for the door, run out and call someone for help." Dylan feels his face contort in an expression of pure horror as Connor adds, "And you never got your pancakes, I know. Wanna make them now?"

"You are so fucked up," Dylan says weakly. Connor's icy blue eyes flash a sick orange, and Dylan is moments from passing out. "You watched me sleep, what the fuck!"

"It's only my duty to fuck things up," Connor leers, biting down hard on Dylan's chin before leaning back. Dylan reaches up to feel the bite, pulling his hand away and seeing red.

"What the-"

"You like that?" Teeth sink into Dylan's shoulder, harder than before, and he cries out in pain.

"Oh god," he stammers. "Oh my god, please, stop."

"Stay here and I'll stop, okay babe?" Connor soothes, voice switching back to normal as he shoves Dylan down. "Listen to me." His knees are tucked at his chest, and as Connor stares at him intently, Dylan's arms begin to shift. Dylan strains against the invisible bonds, wide eyes trained on Connor.

"What are you doing? Don't - you can't-"

"I can do whatever I want," Connor interrupts, and before Dylan knows it, he's frozen in place, mouth clamped shut and unable to speak with wrists locked together behind his back. "Wait here, babe."

If Dylan's mouth wasn't sealed shut, he'd be throwing up.

Connor walks out of the room and down the hallway, and Dylan is surprised he didn't float or teleport or whatever shit he - no wait, it - can do. Seconds later there's a loud banging noise, followed by a thump. Dylan's eyes squeeze shut as he hears a few agonizing screams. It's Connor - his Connor.

The footsteps soon return to the bedroom, and Dylan risks a glance up. His Connor is being dragged down the hallway, only there's nothing dragging him. His body is limp but upright as he's deposited in the middle of the room, tied ankles causing him to collapse in a bloody heap.

Dylan tries to speak but remembers his voice is shot when he can't unglue his lips. He swears in his head and stares at Connor, unable to move or make a sound. Connor probably doesn't even know he's there.

All of a sudden he spots a rippling in the air, and what was not-Connor suddenly comes into view. Dylan chokes on a breath through his nose. It's - it's not quite what he'd expected. Not at all.

Standing between the two of them - Dylan huddled in the corner, Connor having fallen across the room so his back is five feet from Dylan - is the strangest thing Dylan's ever laid his eyes upon. And, quite possibly, the most terrifying.

It could be a humanoid, with a distinguished face, body, and limbs, but there are so many things wrong with it that Dylan can hardly process it in his head.

It's got sickly green scales, patchy in places to reveal a light blue skin; piercing orange eyes three times as big as a human's, pupils expanding and contracting of their own will; and too many squirming limbs like an octopus' tentacles, then turning ramrod straight like a human's paralyzed body. Dylan watches as it curls in on itself, replacing the scales with human skin. Connor's skin.

The thing hisses, then uses Connor's voice as it says, "Thought you'd want to enjoy the show." Dylan shifts his eyes to the Connor on the floor, body twitching and even turning to squirming. "It's perfect this way, isn't it?" Connor says, gesturing at Dylan's position. "No interruptions."

Dylan is frozen, but even if he weren't bound to his position, he's not sure if he'd be able to move. Not-Connor reaches down, gag having been removed somewhere along the way, and sinks its fingers into the fallen figure's shoulder, image flickering between claws and fingertips as Connor squirms and groans in pain. "I'm sure you'll like it, _babe_."

"Fuck," he gasps softly, almost inaudible as Dylan sees new spots of blood begin to seep through his shirt. Not-Connor sits back and looks at his work, pulls him Connor up without touching him, and tosses him the few feet towards Dylan. Connor's head lands right at Dylan's feet, but he can only look on with watering eyes as Connor rasps, "Dyls, please, help."

Even if Dylan could talk, he wouldn't know what to say. Wouldn't know what to do. This is nothing he's never pictured before, not even in his most terrifying nightmares - being immobilized and muted by a shapeshifter who is choosing to torture his boyfriend before his eyes.

Connor cries out again as a sharp kick is delivered to his midsection, curling in on himself as Dylan sees Not-Connor's legs fluctuate between normal ones and spindly, black, clawed limbs. "You like putting on a show, huh?"

"Dylan!" Connor begs, trying to move away from the continuous kicks. "Help me, please, call-" Dylan can't close his eyes, unable to believe the sight as more cuts begin to open up in Connor's face, tears falling down his face as he continues to speak to Dylan. His shirt is ripped in half, melting off his body and into the carpet, and Dylan can see the array of bruises and slices covering the pale skin.

One line is slowly scratched down his face, trailing from his cheekbone down to his shoulder. The blood seeps out bright red and fast, and Connor can barely even keep his eyes open. Dylan strains against the bonds again, but it's no use. Connor is at the mercy of a merciless thing.

Dylan desperately wants to cry out for Connor when he stops screaming, tears simply rolling down his face as he gasps for any bit of breath he can get. He thrashes around helplessly, eyes boring into Dylan's as his mouth parts in a wordless scream, bloody bite marks appearing on his chest. He cries out when he's forced to uncurl, in full view of Dylan as the torn skin on his stomach begins to contort.

"Oh my - please, stop," Connor pleads desperately, finding his quivering, hoarse voice for a few moments. "Please, I'll do anything - stop stop stop, _please_."

A sizzling sound is heard, mixed with the awful odor of burning flesh, and Dylan thought he couldn't be more horrified before he saw the burns. Connor screams in agony, ear-splitting and through streaming tears as the flesh of his lower abdomen begins to melt. Spots of bone begin appear as the patches spress upward, Connor wriggling and squirming and gasping through his sobs like Dylan's never heard before.

"You need to be taught a lesson," Not-Connor says, and Dylan would jump if he could move. He almost forgot what was doing this to Connor. The thing simply stands above Connor and stares, arms crossed as Connor pleads for mercy. "Just a simple lesson."

"Fuck fuck fuck," Connor chokes out, the burns not delving any deeper than his bones. Dylan should close his eyes, wants to close his eyes, never wants to see any of this again - but he can't. He's so enraptured by the sight, so utterly horrified and disgusted, stomach tossing and turning as if he'd eaten raw chicken and salmonella-filled cookie batter and swallowed a gallon of milk, all in a row.

Connor stares up at Dylan, face splotchy and nearly unrecognizable, the tears that drip into his cuts making the pain that much worse. "Please." Dylan almost misses the whispered word, and he looks up at Not-Connor with fire in his eyes.

 _Let me fucking go,_ he thinks in the most dreadful voice he can imagine. _Let me the fuck go_.

There's a chuckle from Not-Connor, and Dylan collapses forward, limbs weak and stiff as he stares down into Connor's swollen, bruised eyes. Blood has tinted them pink, and he reaches a violently shaking hand up to Dylan's face. Dylan shudders as he feels the boil on Connor's palm, sees the slices in his arm as if someone had taken a razor blade to it.

Dylan ducks down on instinct and kisses Connor on the mouth, putting all his desperation and desire into the kiss as Connor jerks and cries out yet again. Dylan quickly leans back, looking down to see a red hot something pressing against Connor's knee, burning through his jeans in seconds.

"Get it off get it off get it off, please, shit, please, get it off, holy shit," he swears weakly, and Dylan, quivering limbs and all, gets to his feet and steps between Not-Connor and the real Connor.

"What's the lesson?" He demands, shoving Not-Connor back. The image distorts, and Dylan sees green scales instead of skin for a split second.

"The lesson?"

"Don't fucking hurt him," Dylan spits, shoving it back even farther from Connor. Low gasps and whines can still be heard, and Dylan feels nausea and anger rise in him at once. "Don't you fucking _dare_ -"

"The lesson is that I am always to be obeyed," the thing says simply. Connor screams again, a soft thud following it. "Your wonderful love did not understand this."

"He fucking gets it now!" Dylan yells, gesturing to Connor's burned, cut, bruised body covered in blood and tears. "He's had enough, just let him go! Fucking stop it!" He takes a step closer to Not-Connor. "Let him _go_!" The thing just crosses its arms and looks past him without a reply.

Dylan whirls around to see Connor's eyes squeezed shut, back arching high off the ground - almost levitating, even - and toes curling as his mouth is held open, short, broken breaths falling from his bleeding lips. The breathy sounds soon stop, and Connor kicks out his tied legs, throat working for air.

Dylan can only watch in absolute horror as Connor is suffocated without being touched, a deep cut opening right under his ribs. The red opening lengthens, as if an invisible knife were dragging its way down Connor's chest, and he tosses his head from side to side and repeatedly closes, then opens his mouth.

Not-Connor simply watches with pleasure, and when Dylan turns back to him - no, it - he twists his fingers around the fabric of the flannel shirt. "You have no right to come into our home and do this to him, he doesn't deserve this and you don't have the right to do this to him no matter what, I don't give a fuck who or what you think you are, you don't have power over him!"

"I have power over anyone," Not-Connor says coldly, and Dylan is suddenly tossed against the nearest wall - which is not so near after all. He feels his side for any broken bones, and when there is none obvious enough, he attempts to stand.

"Dylan!" Connor gasps out, and Dylan looks over to see Connor's face purpling under the cuts, throat having been let go of, body dropped, but not truly released. "Dyls,  _please_."

"Help him." Not-Connor takes the few steps back to the bed, sitting on it and watching as Dylan rushes over to Connor, cupping his jaw in one hand. Connor's body goes limp, but he pushes into the touch with the slightest movement of his head.

"Come on, baby, wake up, look at me," Dylan murmurs, the sick feeling in his stomach beginning to burn. "Look at me." Connor opens his lips, a soft whine the only thing coming out. "Is it still hurting you? Did it stop?"

Connor nods the tiniest nod, and Dylan ducks his head to the curve of Connor's neck, pressing featherlight kisses to the abused skin. He makes his way across Connor shoulders, his pecs, being mindful of the burns and deep cut when his lips graze over Connor's lower chest. He rubs his thumbs against Connor's exposed hips, leaning up and kissing his nose, one of the only parts of his body left untouched.

"I love you," Dylan murmurs, and the ropes fall off of Connor's wrists and ankles. "I love you so fucking much, Davo, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry I never saw this, I'm sorry I couldn't save you; please come back, please look at me."

He takes one of Connor's wrists in both hands and lightly massages at the skin scraped raw and bloody. Connor twitches faintly and opens his mouth again, letting out a soft moan. Dylan kisses his nose again and repeats, "I love you so fucking much."

Connor can't even answer, tears still having not ceased. He can't even fucking open his _eyes_ , thanks to this thing. Dylan brushes the back of his hand against Connor's cheek, wincing at his grimace. 

"You won't be able to explain it," Not-Connor says from across the room. Dylan's hackles immediately raise, and he stands up in the space between the bed and Connor. "What will you tell the hospital?"

The hospital. Dylan hadn't even thought about it. What would he say? 'A creature has been watching me since I was little and turned itself into a carbon copy of my boyfriend and beat him up with his mind while I was frozen in the corner.' Not likely to be believed.

"I hate your fucking guts, you monster, you're a fucking waste of space, why don't you go fuck off to somewhere else and turn into someone else, eh? Go torture someone who actually fucking deserves it, why don't you? There are plenty of prisons and terrorist bases you could visit."

Dylan runs his mouth until he's mentally exhausted, glaring at the creature with such hatred he doesn't think he could be more terrifying. He's simply stared at coolly, but he can't bring himself to hit Not-Connor. God knows what would happen to him; to Connor, even.

"Dyls," Connor says finally, and he sounds absolutely destroyed. Dylan finds himself split between caring for his boyfriend and keeping an eye on the alien-creature thing masquerading as Connor. It's the strangest and most awful situation he's ever been in since - well, in his entire _life;_ there's nothing even _remotely_ comparable to this.

"I'll kill you," he threatens, but Not-Connor simply chuckles.

"Impossible," it says. "He has learned his lesson. I have taught him. There is no need for violence." Dylan's eyes nearly bulge out of his head, and the thing laughs again. "I never set a hand on your lover." The last word is said with such venom and scorn that Dylan's face flushes pink. He's never had anyone criticize him for his choice of a significant other - not that anyone has been told.

Maybe someone should have been told.

"You're gonna fucking get it," Dylan says, finally turning and kneeling by Connor's side once again.

"I love you," Connor whispers, gasping at his hacking coughs that shake his whole body, fresh blood spilling out of his mouth. "So much."

"Stay here, baby, stay with me, c'mon. I'll get you help."

" _Baby_ ," Not-Connor scoffs.

"Shut the fuck up," Dylan spits on reflex, and he suddenly finds himself face-up on the floor with a pounding in his head. It feels like someone bashed him in the forehead with a hammer, and he whimpers as he rolls to face Connor. Connor has cracked open an eye, watching as Dylan gets to his hands and knees and looks down at him.

"Sleep tight," the thing says, having morphed back into its hideous form. "Don't let the bed bugs bite, don't let the spirits fright." Dylan wrinkles his nose in confusion, but before he can ask, the thing is gone. He scoots back from Connor, facing his bed as he finally, finally empties his stomach onto the floor in front of him. All the blood and tears are too much to look at - he can't even imagine how Connor feels, how he's even breathing, living.

Dylan whines pitifully, rolling to the side so the top of his head just barely presses against Connor's ribs. "I love you," Connor repeats, voice faint and broken. Dylan knows he means it. Connor always means it.

Dylan raises his hand, pinky finger, pointer finger, and thumb sticking up; the sign for 'I love you'. Connor reaches for his hand and squeezes. He knows Dylan means it, too. Some times it's harder to say than others.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be without wifi for a couple of weeks, so I won't be able to write anything while I'm gone. Expect something in the following week. :)


End file.
